


Gotta Have You

by aewrose



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Men Crying, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, References to Depression, Songfic, Sort of geraskier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewrose/pseuds/aewrose
Summary: Post "Rare Species," Jaskier is sad and lonely, and goes to wallow in his sorrows in a bar not far from the mountain. A questionably friendly face comes to find him there.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Gotta Have You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on, and best enjoyed while listening to, "Gotta Have You" by the Weepies (I have adjusted the lyrics ever so slightly for the fic).

Music had always been a part of Jaskier's life.

In childhood, nursery rhymes, and songs mothers would sing lovingly to their children as they fell asleep. As a teenager, a method of showing off how brooding you were, how "deep" your thoughts were, and of course, women loved men who could sing.

As an adult, it was his way of life. It was a salve in times of pain, and a celebration in times of joy. It was how he kept from starving--most of the time, anyway--and it was his way in to all the places he loved to go. Parties, bars, et cetera. "Food, women, and wine," and all the other things in life that there were to love.

But he had gotten too comfortable. He had allowed all of his songs that he loved to perform be about one person. Always a mistake. You break up with that person, and all of those songs become painful. Of course, it's not like this hadn't happened before. On again-off again relationships seemed to be something that he had grown accustomed to. No one seemed to be able to handle him being, well, himself in more than small doses.

It was foolish to think that the person he thought was his best friend in the whole world was any different.

He had been with Geralt on the mountain. Yennefer had just left in a huff--not sure he wanted to know what that was about--and he had tried to comfort his longtime friend. For the first time, Geralt snapped. He had always joked around with Jaskier, that he wanted him to go away, that he was a poor traveling companion, and that he was going to leave him in a tavern somewhere. At least, he thought they were jokes. Apparently not. The look on Geralt's face implied that he would have slit Jaskier's throat if he didn't leave, and quick. Nothing in the words implied "Come back when I feel better, Jaskier," or "You're an idiot but you're still my friend, Jaskier." He never wanted to see the bard again. Jaskier managed to squeak out a "See you around, Geralt," but deep down he knew it wasn't true. When Geralt wanted to avoid someone, he avoided someone. "Destiny" be damned.

He managed to hold in his emotions until he saw Roach waiting patiently among the other horses. She had finally grown more comfortable with him, and when Geralt let him touch her she leaned into him. She knew his touch as the touch of a friend. He let out a sob when he saw her, breaking out into a run down the rest of the hill into the town. He ran through the town and halfway to the next before his tear-clouded eyes betrayed him and he fell face down into a muddy puddle. Collecting himself the best he could, he leaned up on a nearby tree, only to remember he had no food, no coin, and not a single friend in the world. Geralt might as well have left him to die. In a moment of clarity, he had decided that he was going to move on, go to the next town, and return to pubs and taverns all across the Continent as an entertainer.

Of course, when he got there, he couldn't bring himself to sing or play.

He had hoped to charm his way into a room in the inn. If he was being realistic with himself, they gave him the room because they felt sorry for him. Spying his face in the mirror was quite a sight to see. Muddy, scraped, with two very telling tear tracks plowing their way from eye to neck. He was completely and totally alone. No one at the tavern spoke to him, and he couldn't bring himself to burden anyone else with his once-bubbly personality. The barkeep always gave him a free drink or two, sometimes wine, sometimes coffee. He wasn't sure why. It was otherwise a lively place--often having other bards and troubadours performing, even a female minstrel a few times--but he couldn't stand to listen to the songs of love and adventure anymore, instead departing to the room he reluctantly called "his." Worse was when he retreated to the barren room and he could hear the entire bar in a rousing chorus of "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher." It was all he could do to cradle his head in his hands and sit on the small bed. He didn't even cry anymore. There was no point.

The passage of time didn't matter. He lingered in that town for nearly a fortnight.

\--

A strapping, shockingly muscular woman was laughing, strumming a lute and crooning alongside two older men, also equipped with instruments of their own. "Instruments of torture," thought Jaskier, sitting in his customary place at the far corner of the bar. He always faced away from the other patrons, not wanting to see women kissing husbands and men carousing with their large groups of friends. He just looked out the window. It was a rainy day today, and it was at least pleasantly warm inside--between the groups of warm bodies and the fire roaring at the other side of the room.

In an effort to avoid recognition, he had gotten rid of the red trousers and doublet he had come here in. They were filthy, anyway, and he had barely enough energy to remain alive, let alone do laundry. A simple white cotton shirt and grey breeches were enough. He nursed his pint of ale. He was always thankful for the free alcohol but it was never enough to get sufficiently drunk. The woman began singing softly, finally deciding it was time to stop messing around and earn her keep. The other patrons grew quiet.

"Another damned love song," he thought. "Might as well stay and listen. Have to get back to these eventually, and it's time to rip the bandage off."

_Gray, quiet and tired and mean_  
_Picking at a worried seam_  
_I try to make you mad at me, open and prone_  
_Red eyes and fire and signs_  
_I'm taken by a nursery rhyme_  
_I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home_

Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He set his jaw and sighed, determined to hold together, fingers running through his hair, his other shaky hand pulling the ale to his lips. A stray throught crossed his mind about the only person he knew who could always stay stoic, and his shoulders began to shake.

_No amount of coffee, no amount of crying_  
_No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine_  
_No, no, no, no, no, nothing else will do_  
_I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you._

The tears fell. He set the half-finished ale aside and placed both arms on the table, leaning over. His face was twisted in sorrow. "This is so stupid," he thought, choking back a sob. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just like everything else." His cuffs were wet with salty remains of silent weeping. The door to the bar opened and some of the patrons began speaking again, softly, amongst themselves. A gravelly voice ordered a drink. The minstrel woman kept singing, undeterred, one of the men deftly harmonizing.

_The road gets cold, there's no spring in the meadow this year_  
_I'm the new chicken clucking open hearts and ears_  
_Oh, such a prima donna, sorry for myself_  
_But green, it is also summer_  
_And I won't be warm 'til I'm lying in your arms_

"That's it," he thought. "I'm leaving. Fuck the chorus, fuck this bar. I'm going to bed." He downed the rest of the ale, despite the tightness rising in his throat, and managed to rise from his seat. "Just in time for the verse," he thought. "Wouldn't want to miss this." He couldn't even help being sarcastic when it was himself on the receiving end. The tears had stopped, and he wiped a few cold, lingering drops from his jawline.

_I see it all through a telescope:_  
_guitar, suitcase, and a warm coat_  
_Lying in the back of the blue boat, humming a tune_

He began walking toward the stairway that led to his room. The single newcomer sitting at the bar was turned slightly, doing his best to ignore the wistful atmosphere in the bar.

The man's eyes flashed, golden. He called out. "Jaskier,"

Jaskier couldn't hold back a sob. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and kept walking.

"Jaskier, come here,"

"No." The man was following him now.

"Jaskier, I'm sorry--"

"I could have been on the coast by now, Geralt," tears were shedding freely now. He turned to face the tall, oppressive frame. "Was it too much to ask? To have a friend for once?"

Geralt's eyes were shockingly soft. "That's not why I asked you--"

"I don't _care_ why you asked, Geralt, and for that matter you didn't _ask_ , wait, stop--"

Geralt was gripping his shoulders, jaw set. The intensity of his gaze stopped the bard's speech immediately.

"I'm _sorry_ , Jaskier." He sighed. "I shouldn't have said those things to you, and I'm sorry. I waited for you, in the first town. I thought you would come back, and when you didn't, I got worried that you got into trouble, so I came here."

"Well, that certainly doesn't _excuse--_ "

Geralt stooped to embrace the smaller man. Jaskier stopped speaking and started wailing, embracing him back. The witcher waited for a moment before shushing him and beginning to stroke the back of his head with a free hand. When the wails slowed to sniffles, he pulled away, resting his forehead on Jaskier's.

"Look at me."

Blue eyes, stained with sorrow, met amber.

"You _are_ a worthy traveling companion. No one else, in the whole Continent, as worthy to travel with me as you. Alright?"

"But you said--"

"Fuck what I said."

Jaskier let out a small laugh. "Alright," he said, rubbing the last tears from his eyes.

"Now, I plan to stay here a night, and then go to the coast." Jaskier nodded. "And you're coming with me."

"On a hunt?"

"No. Just for..." The white-haired man trailed off. Jaskier waited a moment, to see if his friend would finish his sentence.

"For fun?"

"For fun."

_No amount of coffee, no amount of crying_  
_No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine_  
_No, no, no, no, no_  
_Nothing else will do_  
_I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you._


End file.
